Children of the Moon
by M.B. Gaulden
Summary: Separated by a tragedy, two brothers live parallel lives on opposite sides. When their parallel lives suddenly diverge, they find themselves questioning the depth and strength of their family bond and wondering if the power of their brotherhood will be enough to save them from each other. Now if one of them doesn't kill the other, everyone they ever cared about will all die instead


**Children of the Moon**

_By M. B. G._

"_And it came to pass, when they were in the field, that Cain rose up against Abel his brother, and slew him. And the LORD said unto Cain, where is Abel thy brother? And he said, I know not: __**am I my brother's keeper?**__"_

_Genesis_

**Inner Demons**

His eyes abruptly opened as he felt his body moving without his knowledge or consent. His arms were wildly swinging but they were arms he did not recognize. They were covered with bright red hives clumped together and his hands had enlarged and turned into claws. Uncle Louie was in front of him screaming as he held his bleeding head. Marcus tried to stop himself but it was as if he was dreaming. He watched from a far with no control over his actions. He smacked Uncle Louie into a wall and bit into his shoulder with jaws lined with fangs. Blood rushed into his mouth. It was sweeter than anything he had ever tasted. It was the sweetest chocolate. He needed more. He stuck his claw into Uncle Louie's torso stabbing him over and over, letting his tongue soak up the spilling blood like a sponge.

"Louie!" screamed Shirley as she and Dirty Jr. stood in the kitchen doorway horrified. Marcus, incapable of controlling his actions, lunged at Shirley. He moved faster than he thought was possible. Dirty Jr. leaped in the way and took Marcus' claws right in the middle of his chest. Shirley shrieked and disappeared back into the kitchen. Marcus grabbed Dirty Jr.'s body and slammed it through the countertop. He picked it up and flung it crashing through the diner's tables, licking the trail of blood that followed the wreckage. He left Dirty Jr.'s body on top of a broken table as he returned to Uncle Louis' slumped over body. In Uncle Louie's dead clenched hand was a postcard that read "Welcome to San Diego" with a picture of the Coronado Bridge on the front. Marcus' elongated tongue sapped up more blood. It drove his senses crazy. He backed away from the body as his muscles fluctuated, increasing then decreasing. He slammed into a wall and ran across the diner slamming into another wall. He lost all sense of direction as the sweet smell of blood overtook him. He grabbed Dirty Jr., dug his claws in his side and pulled him apart. He threw the bottom half through the roof knocking off the neon sign and let the top half fall to the ground.

"Noo!" shouted Shirley as she emerged from the kitchen and jumped onto his back, stabbing him with a large butcher knife. She repeatedly stabbed him, but he did not go down. He grabbed her from off of his back and flung her through the diner window, shattering it completely, sending glass shards everywhere. Her body hit the ground and skidded across the empty parking lot. He could smell the chocolate leaking from her forehead. He was immediately upon her. He pulled the butcher knife out of his back and dropped it to the ground covered in black blood. The knife bubbled and dissolved in the blood. Marcus heard a pulse, a beating. He could not make sense of it. He lowered his head as the pulse grew louder.

_Bump bump…bump bump…bump bump…_

His claw dug into her chest and slowly pulled out her beating heart listening to its beat.

_Bump bump…bump bump…bump bump…_

Its sweet smell consumed him as he shoved it into his mouth and devoured it. After he consumed the heart, he slowly regained control of his body and stumbled back. He vomited on the ground as his claws retracted into feeble hands. He ran back inside and screamed at the top of his lungs in a horror at what he had done. He vomited again and collapsed against the wall hitting the floor. His open wounds continued to bleed out as he panicked and slowly lost _c_onsciousness…

_**Ten Years Ago…**_

Jeffrey Knox walked across the street holding his two sons by their hands. He was so happy he couldn't force back his smile. He walked up to the white ice cream truck and stood in line. He ordered three strawberry shortcake ice cream bars and handed them to his two little boys.

"You did a good thing today boys. You made me one of the happiest fathers alive. One day I won't be here and it'll be up to you two to protect our family and each other. You're brothers and brothers stick together no matter what; like you two did today. Blood is thicker than water. You're each other's keeper. Always remember that. Promise me that through thick and thin you'll always look after each other. Promise me that family will always come first. Promise me this…"

_**Present Day…**_

"What's happening to me?"

"You're dying."

"Dying!?"

"Yes…dying."

"I—I don't want to die!...don't kill me…please."

"Calm yourself. Only the human in you is dying."

"The human in me? But I'm just a human."

"…You were just a human."

"I'm—I'm still just a human." mumbled the boy, with a confused and frightened expression beaming out of his soft brown eyes as a sharp pain gripped his chest. His skin ran red with blood as he sat up holding a giant gash in his side with bloody, stinging, open wounds covering his entire body from his neck all the way down to his ankles. Large chunks of flesh were missing from his body and a splitting headache resonated around his skull. He looked around in a panic. His head felt dizzy.

The dark shadow of a man stood over the boy's figure, relaxed and poised; a perfect reflection of the man himself. The eerie moonlight creeping through the clear glass windows gently illuminated his face. The man's wintry blue eyes heavily gazed upon the boy, no blinking, no twitching; his gaze watched the boy's every move. His pale skin shimmered in the moonlit darkness. His brown hair was perfectly slicked back. His perfectly shaved face showed no emotion.

"I have been watching you for a very, very long time, Marcus."

A shocked and terrified expression befell the boy as he tried to make sense of what was happening.

"H-How do you know my name?" Marcus hesitantly replied, surprised that he could still speak despite the severity of his bleeding wounds.

"I know everything about you, Marcus Knox," said the man, his voice tranquil like a garden yet as frightening as the darkness surrounding him. His cold words echoed in Marcus' ears. "Your favorite color is green. You are left handed. You play video games. You play basketball. You enjoy watching hockey although you are untalented at playing it…You love cats—"

"You're wrong I hate cats!"

"Exactly, you have always been more of a dog person. You had a dog named Ralph that was a regular part of your family until he died six years ago. Family means everything to you, does it not? You have an older brother, an older sister, and a younger sister. Today is a special day for your family. Today marks the anniversary of the day your father died…five years ago…how tragic…how sad…you were only eleven…"

"Don't talk about my father you know nothing about my father! You don't know anything about me!" shouted Marcus as a jostling pain shot up his spine and into his neck making his body unpleasantly jerk and twitch. He had never felt so much pain before. He clenched his fist, trying to withstand it.

"Like I have said, I have been watching you for a long, long time; longer than you could imagine. You are smart, generous, kind, and you are selfless. It is kind-hearted people like you who always make the best ones."

"The best ones? The best ones of what?"

"The human in you is dying, Marcus. When it fully dies, what is now your body will be more of a shell, a mere disguise."

"A disguise? What will it be hiding? What are you talking about?"

"You're changing Marcus."

Another jostling pain shot up Marcus' spine, this one even more intense than the last. The pain gripping his chest intensified. It felt as if he was slowly suffocating.

"Changing into what?" he said, again surprised that he could still manage to speak through the tremendous heart wrenching pain.

The man's wintry deep blue eyes glistened in the moonlight as he spoke, "Something marvelous. A killer!"

"I could never be a killer!"

"My dear dear boy…you already are…but you are a different kind of killer. A special kind of killer."

Marcus managed to stand on one knee as blood continued to pour from his body.

"What kind of killer is that?" said Marcus sounding disgusted.

"A beast supernaturally bred to kill. A monster of the night. A creature of the day. A werewolf."

"A werewolf? Are you serious? That's ridiculous!" scoffed Marcus. "Werewolves don't…don't exist!"

The man moved out of the moonlight and into the deep darkness of their surroundings. There was an eerie uneasy silence inside the still darkness. Marcus leaned against the wall as the pain in his chest spread to his limbs.

After awhile the man spoke again. "Yes, I believe we do."

"We?" asked Marcus. "We? What do you mean we? Are you crazy? You're freaking insane man! I'm bleeding to death in a place who knows where and now you're saying I'm a—a werewolf? Not even a vampire but a stupid freaking werewolf!? I took a mythology class too, you know. This is unbelievable! Talk about bad days. Look at these wounds, with cuts this deep I should be—"

"Dead!? Marcus Knox is dead. You may still look like Marcus Knox, you may still sound like Marcus Knox, you may still even feel like Marcus Knox, but rest assured you are not Marcus Knox. Marcus Knox just died. And death is forever eternal. Allow me to introduce myself, I am Michael Xavier, alpha male of the House of Xavier, and I needed a son."

"A what!?"

"It seemed like a perfect fit. You have no father, and I have no son. I will become your father as you will become my son."

"Please sir, let me go. Please. Let me go to my family. They need me. I don't want them to think I abandoned them too. I won't tell anyone I swear. Let me go home to see my family. Please!"

"I am afraid that I cannot allow you to do that. You would never forgive yourself if you ate your family, I know… I ate mine."

"You ate yours? You ate your family!? What are you some sick freak? How could you say something like that? Eat my family? I could never do that! I'm not a cannibal!"

"No, you are a carnivore. Tell me, how will you be able to resist it?"

"Resist what?"

"The blood."

"What do you mean?"

"It is to us similar to what the chocolate is to the humans. Intoxicating. Sweet. Except its addictive. Your .body needs it. Blood is our chocolate. Our power enriching chocolate. They even have the same scent. The same taste. And it keeps us strong. Its sweet liquid power will make you kill anyone, including your family, especially your family."

"I don't know what you're talking about! Just let me go. We'll say this was all an accident and you found me like this. I'll say you saved my life. You'll be a hero."

Michael stepped back into the moonlight revealing his blackened eyes. His blue iris along with the white in his eyes were now both as dark as the night. He stood menacingly in the moonlight. Marcus jumped at the sudden sight of him.

"Look at your wounds. Where did they go? Did you notice when they closed up? You did not even feel when the pain stopped. You did not even realize that you died. "

"What are you talking abou—" Marcus observed his self in disbelief. He rubbed his side but felt no gash even though the blood around it was still wet and warm.

"No way!" gasped Marcus. "What's happening to me?"

He removed himself from leaning on the wall on one knee and stood up straight in disbelief. He patted himself making sure it was really him. His flesh had grown back in like it was never missing. He punched himself trying to wake up from this nightmare but it was all too real. He didn't know what to do. He couldn't believe what was happening. This had to be some kind of joke. Marcus looked around. He tried to walk but slipped and hit the blood covered floor.

"Is this…is this blood?"

"Yes."

"My blood?"

"No."

Earsplitting screams surfaced inside Marcus' head as fragmented images flashed across his mind. He saw pictures of a screaming woman being flung through a window, shattering it. He heard roars. He saw razor claws rip through human flesh. He heard pleas. He heard cries. He heard screams. Images of splattering blood ran through his mind. He saw a man, a screaming fat man in overalls being ripped in half. He saw another man, a skinny older man being devoured. He saw more images of the woman. Fragmented images of her fleeing into the kitchen flashed across his mind. The images were unclear and jumped from scene to scene. He saw her reach for the knife. He saw the fear in her eyes. He saw her covered in blood. It was like a dream. He saw claws slashing, monstrous jaws snapping, he couldn't make since of any of it.

"What is this place?"

"A diner."

"People, there's people here."

"There were people here."

"Where are they?"

"They're dead."

"You killed them!?"

"_You_ killed them?"

"I-I couldn't. I wouldn't!" said Marcus then it all came back to him all at once.

_H_e had staggered up the dirt road, confused and discombobulated, to a small diner next to an empty parking lot. He headed towards the diner hoping to find some kind of help or at least a telephone.

On top of the diner was a flashing red neon sign that read "Dirty Pete's" with a picture of a bald, fat, pot bellied man in giant blue overalls holding an oversized fork. Marcus pushed open the clear glass, metal framed door, sounding the small bell which hung above.

The place lived up to its name. There was food everywhere; all over the floor, countertops, tables, and even the dusty windows. Roaches crawled about along with little mice. The gray table cloths on the short wooden tables were torn and stained from years of service. There were also giant cracks in the floor and on the roof. All though the giant mess would lead you to believe that the place was booming with customers, it was deserted. Marcus was the only customer there besides a gray cat that hissed at him from the countertop.

"Don't mind Tubbles. Welcome to Dirty Pete's, home of the famous dirty burger and dirty chili dog and dirty apple pie. Can I interest you into today's special? Dirty soup with black coffee—oh my gosh you're covered in blood!" gasped an old woman as she lifted her eyes from her magazine. She had thin gray hair pulled into a bun, thick pointy hot-pink glasses, and a stain covered white apron around her waist with a name tag that read "Shirley" and "manager" beneath that.

"Oh um," said Marcus as he began trying to think up a lie because he did not know what the truth was. "This isn't real blood or real cuts. They're fake, you know, for this play my theatre class is performing at school. I probably would have bled to death if I really had open wounds like these and this was actually all my blood."

Shirley eyed Marcus suspiciously. "But sugar, why are your clothes ripped?"

"Oh um I ripped them. I'm going for the whole undead zombie look. It's the theme of the play. Do I look convincing enough?"

"A little too convincing if you ask me. I'm sure you'll be a fine zombie. Back in my day I did a little acting myself. I played the bride of Dracula. But my costume was nowhere near as good as yours. I've never seen you around here before though, are you lost?"

"Actually, I am. Where exactly are we?"

"Why, Canis, California of course."

"Canis? Where's that?"

"As far north in California as you're going to get before hitting Oregon. As you can see, it's a very rural town, nothing but trees, dirt roads and more trees and more dirt roads until you hit the highway. You look like a city boy. Are you from San Rosetta?"

"I'm actually from San Diego. I've never been to Canis."

"San Diego? SoCal. A Southern California boy huh? My nephew is a southern California boy too. He used to stay with me for awhile though. You sort of remind me of him except a few years younger. What the heck are you doing way up here, sugar? They got plenty of good camping grounds way closer to San Diego than here."

"Well to tell you the truth…I don't really remember why I'm up here. Or how I even managed to get way up here. One minute I'm at home—practicing for the play, the next I'm here. That's as much as I remember."

"So you're not a camper?"

"Nope."

"Well that's okay sugar you just come right over here and take a seat." Shirley pointed at a stool right below the dirt stained counter. "I'll fix you right up something to eat."

Marcus glanced around the filthy diner. A roach grabbed a piece of molded bread on the floor and scurried away. "Um no that's okay."

"I insist," replied Shirley.

"I don't have any money." said Marcus.

"No worries," replied Shirley. "It's on the house. We haven't had a single customer for weeks. Now like I was saying, we got dirty soup, dirty cheese burgers, dirty chili dogs, dirty fish tacos, dirty ham sandwiches, basically anything you see on the 'Dirty Menu' you can eat."

"Actually, I was hoping if I could use the phone. I need to call my mom."

"Oh sorry sugar, our phone line has been down for some time. We'll go to the neighbor's first thing in the morning and you can use theirs. You look starved and nervous. Relax, you're in good company, sugar. Now what'll it be? Anything on the Dirty Menu."

Marcus again glanced around the diner once more, then back at the Dirty Menu, which was actually dirty and covered with juice stains. "Do you have anything that's clean?"

Shirley slapped her knee with the magazine and roared with laughter. "Pete, get out here Pete! This boy's a hoot!"

"What Shirley?" yelled a man wobbling from behind the metal kitchen door holding a metal spatula.

The man looked identical to the picture of Dirty Pete that was on top of the diner next to the flashing red neon sign. He had the pot belly, the bald head, and the blue overalls except his overalls were dirtier than the man on the neon sign.

"Get a load of my new friend…"

"Marcus."

"Get a load of my new friend Marcus. Marcus this is my husband Dirty Pete."

Dirty Pete stuck out his stubby hand. "Dirty Pete was my father, I'm Dirty Pete Jr. Everyone calls me Dirty Jr. for short."

Marcus reached out his arm and shook Dirty Jr.'s surprisingly clean hand.

"Whoa, quite a grip you got there for a young 'fella." exclaimed Dirty Jr.

"Honey, I told young Marcus here that he can have anything he wanted to eat and it'll be on the house. Is that okay?"

"It's more than okay, hun, I haven't cooked for a new face in eons. What'll it be Marcus?"

Marcus sniffed the air. "Well I'd love to try whatever that chocolate smell is coming from. It smells good. What is it a cake?"

Shirley looked at Dirty Jr. with a confused expression on her face. Dirty Jr. looked at her with the same gesture and shrugged his shoulders.

"Sonny," said Dirty Jr. "I don't think I've ever made anything with chocolate in it. Not even the chocolate milk."

"But I smell chocolate and a lot of it." argued Marcus scratching his wrist at a red rash that had suddenly appeared. "It's like I can almost taste it."

Shirley sniffed the air and shrugged her shoulders. "Sugar, all I smell is old grease and kitty litter."

"Shirley do we have anymore band-aids? I cut myself earlier and this band-aid is all used up. That's why I could never be a boxer, I'm too much of a bleeder." interrupted a shirtless boney old man also in blue denim overalls walking out of the kitchen. The top of his head was bald with thin white hair wrapping around the sides.

"Marcus, I would like you to meet our crazy uncle, Louie." said Shirley as she walked over to him.

"Hey, nice to meet you, I'm Marcus."

"Marcus huh?" he asked. "Does Marcus have a last name?"

"Knox. Marcus Knox.

"Marcus Knox huh? I like that name. Everyone calls me Uncle Louie. I'm as old as dirt. If you don't believe me, ask dirt. Ha-ha."

"Settle down Uncle Louie, now let me see that cut."

Uncle Louie held up his skeleton-like index finger and Shirley started peeling off the band-aid. The chocolaty scent immediately rushed into Marcus' nose all at once.

_That __**can't**__ be what I was smelling,_ he thought.

Shirley reached into her apron pocket and pulled out a box of band-aids. She opened a fresh band-aid and placed it around Uncle Louie's cut, flicking the used one into the air. Marcus' eyes intensively watched the used band-aid as it gently floated down towards the floor. His eyes rocked back and forth with its swaying motion until it finally landed.

_That can't be._

"Uncle Louie, Marcus here thinks he smells chocolate," said Dirty Jr. "Are you messing around in the kitchen again? What have I told you about cooking?"

"On second thought, I don't smell chocolate after all." said Marcus, "I don't know what came over me. My mistake."

"I did just eat a chocolate bar." said Uncle Louie. "But I don't know how you smelled me eating it."

"I didn't. I'm just hungry and imagining things." said Marcus

"Sugar don't fret over it. It's almost midnight; you're just tired and ready to go to sleep."

"Yeah I guess your—wait, it's barely midnight?"

"What time did you think it was, sugar?"

"But it looks so bright out."

Uncle Louie looked out of the window and then back at Marcus. "Looks pretty dark to me."

Marcus looked out the diner to an illuminated surrounding. It was light outside but not quite light, like a dimmer light than sunlight but still bright enough for him to clearly see; a light shrouded in darkness. "Never mind. I must be more tired than I thought."

"Well luckily this fabulous eating establishment is also our humble living quarters. We'll pull out a mat for you to rest until the morning. When you awake you can take a fresh shower, put on some of Uncle Louie's old clothes, call your mom, and then we can find a way to get you back home even if we have to take you ourselves. How's that sound? She's probably worried sick about you."

"I know she is. A mat sounds fine. Hopefully I'll just wake up in my bed."

"Well sugar, try clicking your heels three times and saying there's no place like home," joked Shirley.

"And if that doesn't work," said Uncle Louie, "Ask my ex wife if she can fly you there on her broom."

"You'll have to excuse Uncle Louie," said Dirty Jr. "He likes to be funny."

"It comes natural to me," replied Uncle Louie. "They say if you got talent, use it or lose it baby; and I'm a use it 'till there ain't none left."

"Trust me, Uncle Louie, you lost it a long time ago," replied Shirley. "Now Marcus dear, how about that mat? Wait right here sugar."

Shirley disappeared into the kitchen and reappeared with a blue, thin, foldable mat and a brown blanket. She unfolded the mat and placed it on the floor next to where Marcus was sitting, but instead of sweeping the filth out of the way, she placed the mat on top of all the dirt and old crusty food on the floor. She then placed the blanket on top of the mat.

"It's ready for you whenever you need it, sugar."

"Have you decided what you're going to eat yet?" asked Dirty Jr.

"I guess I'll just have a slice of your dirty apple-pie," answered Marcus.

"The kids got taste," chuckled Dirty Jr. "One slice of dirty apple-pie coming right up. But I must warn you, prepare your taste buds, they're in for the ultimate treat!"

Dirty Jr. turned, and flocked back into the kitchen.

"Marcus here is from San Diego," said Shirley.

"Oh really? I've been to San Diego once or twice in my day," said Uncle Louie. "They call it America's finest city. It's filled with beautiful women and sunny days. It's enough to give an old man like me a heart attack."

"Yeah it's pretty great. I like it a lot." added Marcus.

Dirty Jr. emerged from the kitchen holding a small ceramic plate with a greasy, slimy, light brown glob on it. The slice of apple-pie looked disgusting. It was lumpy and had an oval shape to it. The crust looked burnt yet undercooked. The apple filling leaked out everywhere and it appeared like Dirty Jr. threw some brown mushy apple slop he scraped from the toilet bowl together and called it "pie."

"This pie right here is this diners pride and joy. Anyone who's ever tasted this piece of heaven fell instantly in love, and I now bestow this gift unto you. Bon Appétit!" said Dirty Jr., beaming with pride.

He wiped away a few crumbs and sat the plate on the counter in front of Marcus handing him a tarnished metal fork. Tubbles suddenly jumped in front of the plate and hissed at Marcus, ready to strike.

"Oh get away from him." said Shirley shooing away the cat slapping him with her magazine. "I don't know what's gotten in to him. He's normally a quiet ol' thing. Dig in sugar."

"Don't worry about whipped cream," laughed Uncle Louie, "It makes its own."

Marcus smiled politely and stared at the slice of pie. It smelled funny to him but he felt obligated to eat it since Shirley, Dirty Jr., and Uncle Louie had been so hospitable. He stuck his fork in and without giving it a second thought, ate a piece of the pie. To Marcus' surprise, the pie had no taste at all. It was completely bland. He swallowed the bite and felt it slime down his throat. Marcus looked up to see Shirley, Dirty Jr., and Uncle Louie all staring at him waiting for him to comment on the pie.

"It's the best pie I've ever had." said Marcus.

"I knew it!" cackled Dirty Jr. in triumph. "The world renown dirty apple-pie strikes again!"

"I know a liar when I see one." said Uncle Louie. "I'll tell you right now that pie is disgusting!"

"Come on you two, let Marcus eat and get some shut-eye," said Shirley shooing Dirty Jr. and Uncle Louie into the kitchen. "Go ahead sugar, eat in peace. I'll be back in a little while to check on you and make sure everything's alright, okay?"

"Okay thanks." replied Marcus as he ate another piece of the pie to show gratitude.

"Don't stay up too late sugar. You look traumatized. A good night's sleep will do you some good." Shirley shoved Uncle Louie into the kitchen, who was mumbling something about San Diego, politely smiled at Marcus, and then disappeared inside.

Marcus waited a brief moment, and then scraped the rest of the pie onto the floor.

_I'm sure they won't notice, _he thought.

He laid on the mat and scratched at the rash which had began to spread down his arm. His skin was red and irritated and itched as if he took a bath in poison ivy. He took a deep breath trying to relax. He could still smell chocolate and it frightened him.

_This all better be a dream._

He looked back outside into the bright darkness and still could not make sense of it. He covered himself with the blanket, but eventually tossed it off since he wasn't cold…or hot for that matter. He slowly closed his eyes as he felt sleep approaching. He felt relief from the complete darkness of his eyelids. He yawned and drifted off to sleep desperately hoping to wake up safely in his bed at home.

His eyes abruptly opened as he felt his body moving without his consent or knowledge. His arms were wildly swinging but they were arms he did not recognize. They were covered with bright red hives clumped together and his hands had enlarged and turned into claws. Uncle Louie was in front of him screaming as he held his bleeding head. Marcus tried to stop himself but it was as if he was dreaming. He watched from a far with no control over his actions. He smacked Uncle Louie into a wall and bit into his shoulder with jaws lined with fangs. Blood rushed into his mouth. It was sweeter than anything he had ever tasted. It was the sweetest chocolate. He needed more. He stuck his claw into Uncle Louie's torso stabbing him over and over, letting his tongue soak up the spilling blood like a sponge.

"Louie!" screamed Shirley as she and Dirty Jr. stood in the kitchen doorway horrified. Marcus, incapable of controlling his actions, lunged at Shirley. He moved faster than he thought was possible. Dirty Jr. leaped in the way and took Marcus' claws right in the middle of his chest. Shirley shrieked and disappeared back into the kitchen. Marcus grabbed Dirty Jr.'s body and slammed it through the countertop. He picked it up and flung it crashing through the diner's tables, licking the trail of blood that followed the wreckage. He left Dirty Jr.'s body on top of a broken table as he returned to Uncle Louis' slumped over body. In Uncle Louie's dead clenched hand was a postcard that read "Welcome to San Diego" with a picture of the Coronado Bridge on the front. Marcus' elongated tongue sapped up more blood. It drove his senses crazy. He backed away from the body as his muscles fluctuated, increasing then decreasing. He slammed into a wall and ran across the diner slamming into another wall. He lost all sense of direction as the sweet smell of blood overtook him. He grabbed Dirty Jr., dug his claws in his side and pulled him apart. He threw the bottom half through the roof knocking off the neon sign and let the top half fall to the ground.

"Noo!" shouted Shirley as she emerged from the kitchen and jumped onto his back, stabbing him with a large butcher knife. She repeatedly stabbed him, but he did not go down. He grabbed her from off of his back and flung her through the diner window, shattering it completely, sending glass shards everywhere. Her body hit the ground and skidded across the empty parking lot. He could smell the chocolate leaking from her forehead. He was immediately upon her. He pulled the butcher knife out of his back and dropped it to the ground covered in black blood. The knife bubbled and dissolved in the blood. Marcus heard a pulse, a beating. He could not make sense of it. He lowered his head as the pulse grew louder.

_Bump bump…bump bump…bump bump…_

His claw dug into her chest and slowly pulled out her beating heart listening to its beat.

_Bump bump…bump bump…bump bump…_

It's sweet smell consumed him as he shoved it into his mouth and devoured it. After he consumed the heart, he slowly regained control of his body and stumbled back. He vomited on the ground as his claws retracted into feeble hands. He ran back inside and screamed at the top of his lungs in a horror at what he had done. He vomited again and collapsed against the wall hitting the floor. His open wounds continued to bleed out as he panicked and slowly lost _c_onsciousness…

"How-how could I do this? I was a good person. I am a good person." said Marcus as the images exited his mind.

"Which is why you will be one of the best ones."

"I couldn't control it."

"The hives come right before you are about to lose control."

Marcus examined the blood covered diner in disbelief. "I don't want to hurt anybody."

"Exactly."

"I…I don't understand."

"Rise. Come with me."

"I'm not going anywhere with you."

"You are a killer now, where else can you go? The humans will surely make you rot in a cell once they find out what you have done."

"I'll tell them it was an accident. I'll tell them it wasn't on purpose!"

"Sixteen year old Marcus Knox murders innocent victims on ''accident''. I am sure the police and the media will be dying to believe you."

"Well then I'll tell them the truth! I'll tell them that you turned me into a werewolf and made me kill those people."

"That is absurd. A werewolf? Werewolves do not exist, remember?"

Marcus glanced around the battered and broken diner. His eyes landed on the broken doorway and he inched towards it.

"Do not run. You are smarter than that Marcus. I know you are smarter than that, Marcus. Do you not watch movies? You will run and run and run and when you tire, I will magically appear in front of you, grab you, probably fling you to the ground, and do a hysterical evil laugh."

Marcus looked down at the floor and shook his head contemplating his options. He noticed a piece of the broken wooden floor slightly sticking up. He quickly reached down and broke off a jagged piece of the floor board. He did a tuck and roll and jumped back up holding it in his hand, shakily pointing it at Michael.

"Now you listen to me, I'm walking out that door and you bet not try to stop me or try to follow me or so help me I will slice you into millions of pieces. You understand? Millions of pieces! Leave me alone! You understand? Leave me alone! DO YOU UNDERSTAND?!"

"Apparently you do not understand, Marcus. Go ahead, run. Run run run away; as far as you can. Let the humans deal with you."

Marcus started inching his way more towards the door. His eyes watched Michael intensely making sure to watch for any sudden moves.

"Don't try to stop me."

"I will not." said Michael.

"A million pieces!"

"I understand."

Marcus took a deep breath and stepped one foot outside into the night. His eyes still heavily fixated upon Michael. He turned to run.

"Oh and Marcus." said Michael.

Marcus slowly turned back around and stared at Michael, waiting for him to attack.

"You have made me very proud."

Marcus turned and sprinted out the door as fast as he could. Trees and dirt covered the entire landscape. He retracted deep within his own thoughts as he thought about the odds of the police believing him or convicting him as a murderer. After all, the blood of Shirley, Dirty Jr. and Uncle Louie was all over him and the diner. His wounds had disappeared and there was no logical explanation for what had just happened. No one would believe him; he didn't believe himself. He slowed down and turned back around. He didn't want to go with Michael, but what other choice did he have. He killed those people. He was guilty. He reluctantly began walking back towards the diner.

"Follow me." said Michael suddenly appearing beside him, startling him. "It's this way."

Marcus quietly followed Michael as they headed back towards the surrounding forest.

"Are you crazy?" said Marcus. "We'll get killed in the forest! Do you know how many wild animals there are? I'm not going in there!"

"Do not be afraid. You have nothing to fear. And you never will again."

"I still don't understand."

"The good are the best damned."

"What?"

"The good are the best damned. It is the good who make the best werewolves because they become corrupted. It is that corruption that creates power. It is their love that creates the hunger."

"What do you mean?"

"If you were to take a serial killer and change him, he would be weak. His soul would remain unchanged. There is no driving force, no motivation. He is not fighting his conscious therefore he is not gaining strength. It is the initial struggle that builds strength. The serial killer would not fight the werewolves' killer instinct, he would accept it. But the good or the pure of heart, they would fight it. They would not accept it. They would not accept doing something that goes against everything they stand for, that goes against the essence of their very nature, and they will fight it with all of their might. All of their energy and efforts to fight what they have become becomes corrupted. They fight as long as they can but you cannot fight the hunger. It never goes away it only increases the more you try to ignore it. Suddenly all of their energy and effort to fight who they are is the same energy and effort and drive they use to feed and that is why they become monsters."

"Are you saying that's what's going to happen to me?"

"Yes."

"But I don't want it to."

"Exactly. But your little mishap at that diner confirmed what I was already certain of."

"What?"

"Like father, like son."

"What do you mean?"

"You will see for yourself."

They entered the forest and began weaving around the trees. To Marcus, it seemed like they were aimlessly wandering around, but Michael walked with a destination in mind.

"Where are we going?" asked Marcus.

"Our final destination of the night is home."

"You're taking me home?"

"Yes."

"Are you serious?"

"Indeed."

"That's, that's great! But why are we walking through the forest?"

"I am the alpha male of the House of Xavier."

"I heard you the first time. I don't know what that is."

"It is home."

"I live in San Diego, remember? You know, that place you kidnapped me from."

"Correction, you _lived _in San Diego."

"So now you want me to live in your house?"

"The House of Xavier is more of a sort clan than a physical house. Allow me to explain. Wolves run in packs. They are a family. Naturally we do the same. A House is formed from packs of werewolves coming together to better their chances of survival. Like the early formation of a kingdom. Naturally, every kingdom needs a king. In our case, our king is the Alpha, which is me. You are now my son which makes you the prince. You are now the Beta werewolf. Second to only me as I was second to only my father. We are Xaviers. Everything around you is our territory."

"You mean like you own the world?"

"No. Make no mistake, we are not the only werewolves around with territories. Always remember that if you are not in your territory, you are in someone else's. Other werewolves will try to invade our territory at any given moment and we will invade other territories at any given moment to either conquer, eradicate, or to take their heart, their House Jewel."

"But why?"

"Simply because we can. Dominancy is in our savage nature. Attack without warning, kill without mercy, that is our way. That is my way."

"You attack your own kind? Why? Shouldn't you all band together?"

"There are three rules that you must live by. Three rules that cannot be broken under any circumstance."

"Rules?"

"There are three of them. Number one, the blood of the wolves comes first."

"The blood of the wolf? What does that mean?"

"It means that you must never betray any Canidae under any circumstance."

"What's a Canidae?"

"Werewolves, wolves, dogs, foxes, jackals, coyotes, etc., under any circumstance you must never betray them."

"What do they have to do with me?"

"They now have everything to do with you. More than you could imagine. It is not a coincidence that we favor wolves or that dogs are part of the wolf family. When I say betray, I mean betray by giving them up to Winngers."

"What's a Winnger?"

"Anyone who tries to cause a Canidae harm whether it's trying to capture them or kill them. To us, Winngers are slayers. To wolves, they can be humans and to lesser Canidae, they can be other predators. In the presence of a Winnger, we all band together no matter what. Never leave a Canidae at the mercy of a Winnger. "

"What happens if someone does?"

"It depends on the situation; but usually death for abandonment."

"A silver stake through the heart sounds painful even before you turned me into this thing."

"You are not a thing and soon you will be proud of what you have become. And a silver stake through the heart will not kill a werewolf."

"Um, yes it will."

"No, it will not."

"Yes it will."

"You watch too many movies or have heard too many werewolf tales." Michael held up his hand to reveal a glimmering, sharp, silver stake.

Marcus abruptly stopped in his tracks. "Where'd that come from? What are you doing?"

"Take it."

"No."

"Do not be afraid. Take it."

"How can you even hold that thing? It's silver right? I'm not trying to die or burn my hands or whatever happens when werewolves touch silver."

"Does it look like I am dying? Is my hand burning?"

Marcus stared at Michael's perfectly undamaged pale hand. "No, it's not?"

"Take it. It is harmless."

Marcus hesitantly reached for the stake. He quickly touched it to see if it would burn him. When nothing happened, he grabbed it out of Michael's hand.

"Good. Now I want you to take that stake and drive it deep into my chest. Stab me right in my heart."

"I can't do that, you'll die!"

"Do it."

"You'll die!"

"Now!"

"I can't!" said Marcus as he threw the stake at the ground and took a step back.

Michael reached down and picked the stake back up. He turned its sharp tip towards his chest.

"Don't do it!" said Marcus.

Without giving it any thought, Michael shoved the stake deep into his chest, puncturing his heart. He didn't scream, shout, or even wince. Black blood oozed from his wound as he stared deep into Marcus' eyes. Marcus speechlessly watched as Michael slowly pulled the stake out. It was drenched in his black blood. To Marcus' surprise, the blood was dissolving the silver stake just as the knife had been dissolved. Michael dropped the half dissolved stake onto the forest floor. Skin grew over the gaping hole in his chest and the blood stopped running. Michael's chest had completely healed in a matter of seconds.

"No, it will not." said Michael as he continued walking.

"You're freaking insane! What if I had of said chop its head off!? Would you have killed yourself and chopped your own head off?"

"That would not work either."

"Or blow a werewolf to pieces."

"That would also not kill me. Marcus, everything you have ever heard about us was a lie."

"Everything?"

"Mostly. You see what people do not know or understand, they fabricate and fear. Most humans do not believe we exist simply because they do not see us, but we see them. In actuality, humans see us all the time."

"Really? I've never seen a werewolf and I don't know anyone who ever has, you know, besides the kids running around in packs pretending to be werewolves."

"That is because those who see us…die."

"I've seen you and I'm still alive?"

"On the contrary, Marcus Knox is dead; and the dead do not come back to life."

"What about the living dead?"

"There is no such thing."

"But aren't vamp—"

"There is no such thing as living dead. You are either dead or you are alive. There is no in between."

"So forget everything I ever knew about werewolves? Okay. I never really saw how silver was supposed to kill werewolves anyway. I mean why not gold? It's worth more. No silver stake, no blowing to pieces, well how do you kill a werewolf?"

"Rule number two: only a werewolf knows how to kill a werewolf; that knowledge must remain amongst werewolves."

"What happens if somebody else finds out?"

"Then Winngers will kill us all. That will be the end of our story. No sequels, just one mass genocide."

"But without that secret, how are they even werewolf slayers if they can't slay werewolves? Why should I even worry about them?"

"Because secrets never stay a secret. Over time, Winngers have discovered our truth. Somehow some way, they discovered how to make us die and they killed as many of us as they could. We were hunted and mercilessly slaughtered. Then they took our bodies and hung them on display for all to see. For all to know that we were real and that we were real killable. They captured some of us and thought they could use the promise of death to enslave us. But they underestimated the raw fearlessness instilled within our very essence. We cannot be tamed or domesticated and they soon found this out. Every Winnger who has ever discovered our truth kills one of us. But every Winnger who discovers it also puts an immediate target on their head. Their death is inevitable. They along with their families and friends are hunted down and exterminated. Then our secret is once again a secret."

"Why their families and friends? They're innocent."

"It is a precautionary measure just in case Winngers try to pass along our truth. If everyone dies, no one can tell our truth. It is a necessary tactic."

"So how many Winngers out there know how to kill a werewolf now?"

"None."

"None? Not one? How do you know?"

"I was there when the last Winnger who knew our truth died about a little over a century ago."

"A century? That's right; you're immortal aren't you?"

"We cannot die from natural causes. We are immune from viruses, diseases, and even supernatural forces. We cannot die from the freezing cold or the scorching heat. Not even old age can wither us away."

"To live forever…how does it feel?"

Michael responded with an even more serious tone in his voice, "No one lives forever."

Rodents along with other small animals scurrying along the forest floor fled out of their way as they casually strolled through the forest. A faint howl reached Marcus' ears and he began to panic.

"Are those wolves?"

"The third rule is discretion. Our world has remained safe because it is secret. This is the most important and sacred rule. Never get caught hunting. Never get caught on the news. If you draw too much human attention to yourself other Houses will target you, hunt you, and if they can, kill you. Our world must remain hidden from the human public."

"Why?"

"Knowledge is power. The more they know about us the more powerful they are against us. If they know nothing, they are powerless. And power is everything"

"I see."

"Always live by these three rules. They are essential to the survival of our kind."

Marcus sniffed the air, "I hear wolves, but that stench, what is it?"

"It is you, it is me, it is every werewolf. It is our scent. It is how we can detect each other in revert form."

"Hold on, back to these slayers or Winngers, if the last one to know how to kill a werewolf died one-hundred years ago, I shouldn't be worried then, right?"

"As wrong as ever," replied a stone faced Michael. "You can still feel pain. They will capture you, gorge out your eyes then carve out your insides. They will rip your limbs from your body and set you ablaze. Then, they will wait for everything to heal, and then start all over again with each time finding more ways to make you suffer. They will drown you, suffocate you, rip out your fur and do any and everything they can to make you crack and tell them our truth. And if you crack and tell them, they will kill you slowly, and then come after the rest of us. Winngers are to be considered dangerous at all times and should be killed on sight whether they have hurt a Canidae or not. Once a Winnger, always a Winnger. It does not matter if they are active or not. Never let them escape! Never show them mercy! Do you understand!?"

"I think so."

"Good. Winngers are unpredictable. They are enemy number one. Hopefully you will have the pleasure of killing one someday. They come out of nowhere, hundreds of them, like ants. And they say we multiply fast. Remember, Winngers are the most dangerous because they have the potential of discovering our truth. They are enemy number one."

"That smell is getting stronger. Ugh, it smells so bad. So does that mean there are other werewolves around?"

"Yes."

"Xaviers?"

"Correct."

"What do they want?"

"You, they want you. You have now entered a world where only the strong survive. As I have said, I am king which makes you prince. Now you must meet your people."

They walked past a few more trees and through a patch of bushes and entered a large gaping clearing.

"We have arrived." said Michael, glancing around the empty clearing.

"There's nothing here."

"Follow your nose first and your eyes second. Your nose can see what your eyes cannot."

"I don't understand."

"You do not see anything, but you smell other werewolves. Trust your nose first and your eyes second. Your nose can see what your eyes cannot."

"So even though I don't see them, my nose is telling me they're still here."

"Correct."

Michael held his head back and unleashed a loud, booming, screeching howl that stretched across the night. Suddenly, the surrounding trees began to shake as if an earthquake had just struck. The clearing quickly began filling up with a crowd of people who all stared at Marcus. They growled and snarled at him opening their mouths, displaying their treacherous fangs. They're blackened eyes, mirroring the empty darkness of the night, stared at him with hate. Their claws were extended, displaying their razor sharpness. More and more filled the clearing. Marcus took a step back.

"Stand your ground." whispered Michael. "Don't run."

"They look like they want to kill me."

"They do."

"What? Why? What did I do?"

"Who goes there?" said a course voice from the crowd. The snarling and growling ceased and all of their remorseless and unrepentant blackened eyes gazed upon Michael and Marcus.

"The shadows of the moon." answered Michael.

_**No matter what, stand your ground! **_said a voice inside Marcus' head unfamiliar to his own.

_Hello?_

_**Stand your ground.**_

_Are you inside my head? How are you inside my head? This is crazy! I can hear your voice inside my head!_

The man with the coarse voice walked through the crowd with a slender woman with long black hair tailoring behind him. He had a bald head and a huge muscular physique. His bare chest was smudged in blood and the woman's mouth was also covered in blood that dripped off of her chin. "What do the shadows say?" said the man.

Michael stared at Marcus then back at the man and gave a sly smirk. "Awaken the night!"

The crowd of Xaviers charged towards them. Marcus watched as they grew closer and closer. Their blood drenched claws stood ready to rip him apart. They surrounded him on all sides and lunged to attack all the while howling like demonic maniacs. Just before they were about to jump on Marcus, they abruptly stopped.

"He didn't run." said the woman with the man with the coarse voice.

"No Ayola, he did not." answered Michael.

"He's supposed to run." said Ayola.

"Alpha, tell me you didn't do what I think you did." said the man with the coarse voice.

"Gavin, Gavin, Gavin, you know me well my friend…"

"But how is that possible? It happens once a millennia—if that! And it's completely random. How could you have known?" asked Gavin.

"I said awaken the night!" roared Michael and the Xaviers resumed their all out attack on Marcus. Michael, Gavin, and Ayola stood watching amidst the commotion as the Xaviers ran around them aiming for Marcus.

The Xaviers viciously assaulted Marcus. One dug its claws deep into Marcus' abdomen. Marcus screamed from the pain right as another grabbed his left leg and snapped it sending Marcus into shock. Suddenly the Xavier who had his claws in Marcus' abdomen pulled them out screaming from pain. His claws had been dissolved. Marcus was pummeled to the ground. Xaviers raked at his body. One managed to place its claw over Marcus' face and drug her razor nails across it leaving a bloody claw print behind. Marcus cried out for help but Michael remained motionlessly watching the brutal assault. Marcus was suddenly lifted into the air then abruptly slammed on the top of his head. His nose began to bleed. He was kicked in the stomach and sent tumbling across the clearing. He was then kicked again and sent tumbling back to where he originated. Chunks of flesh were missing out of his face and neck. Claws carved deep into his torso. Marcus felt his blood begin to boil. He tried to free himself and managed to break one arm free. More Xaviers jumped on him and pinned his arm back down. His vision started to blur as his anger started to grow. The pain from the repeatedly stabbing claws striking his body lessened the angrier he became. Fur started to sprout on his forehead and nose.

"Yes!" shouted Michael. "Yesss!"

"Here he comes!" shouted Gavin.

Marcus managed to break both of his arms free. His broken leg stiffened and then snapped back in place. His mouth began to protrude. An Xavier leaped on top of Marcus' chest and drove its claws into it. Marcus shrieked as he knocked the Xavier off of him, sending him tumbling back. His shoulder blades began to broaden as his body frame started to enlarge. Muscle pumped into his arms and legs and he felt his heart pacing. His teeth began to sharpen as he started fighting the Xaviers off with newfound strength. Fur began sprouting up everywhere, bursting through his flesh. His close shredded as his muscular fur covered body broke through them. His skin shredded along with his clothes. His ears enlarged and became pointy, resembling that of a giant wolf's. Adrenaline pumped uncontrolled power through his entire body. He was furious. His mind became unstable, his thoughts unclear. His bones thickened and hardened. His spine cracked and popped as it grew longer. A bushy wolf like tail slowly protruded from his lower back. His jaws were now lined with razor sharp fangs and a long thick black tongue. His eyes reflected the black bleakness of the night. Every wound in his body sealed.

"His fur!" shouted Ayola.

"Is black!" yelled an Xavier in horror as he began to flee.

Marcus howled a fierce howl as he began to attack the Xaviers who had been attacking him. He was enormous, almost double in size. His sleek black fur blended in with the darkness making him barely visible. He grabbed an Xavier by his neck and slammed him into another. He stuck his claw in another Xavier and tore a hole right through her abdomen. He grabbed her by her hair and flung her into two more Xaviers. He was on a rampage. He was too big, too strong, too fast, and too angry. He caught a group of four Xaviers attempting to flee the clearing just before they could escape. They attacked him out of desperation, but they could not match his power. Their blows did little damage to his monstrous physique. He grabbed one of their legs and tore it off of his body kicking him to the ground. He threw the leg at the other three who had taken off running in the other direction.

The chocolate scent of blood gently filled his black nostrils. He turned his attention to Michael, to the source of the smell. Tied up in front of Michael's feet was a shirtless blindfolded man quivering with fear. His wrists had been slashed and his blood was slowly dripping onto the ground. All Marcus could smell was the blood. It intoxicated him. He began running towards the bound man.

"Feast, my son!" roared Michael as he removed the blindfold from over the man's face. The whimpering man screamed in horror as he saw the savagely approaching Marcus. Marcus overtook the man crashing into him like a bulldozer. He bit off his arm and quickly devoured it grinding his bones with his fangs. He bit into the side of his torso and began clawing his chest open. He ripped the man's legs off, devouring them simultaneously. He shredded the man to pieces with his dreadful claws and devoured the bloody chunks of flesh. His long black tongue scraped the blood off of the grass in the clearing. He held his head back and howled into the sky.

He slowly began losing mass as the sleek black fur covering his body retracted inside of him. His fangs retracted and his jaw returned to normal. He slowly returned back to his human form as the black faded from his eyes. His anger drained from him as he stood on his knees discombobulated. His shredded clothes hung off of him like rags leaving him almost completely nude.

"Werewolves…don't…don't…they don't…don't exist…" he mumbled as he began again losing consciousness.

"Yes…I believe _we_ do." said Michael hovering over his unconscious body with newly blackened eyes. "Welcome home."


End file.
